


Monsters in the Dark

by LadyBeaumort



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, All/Most canon characters, Bottom Harry, Defiinitely OC, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Magical Bond, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Master of Death Harry Potter, Memory Loss, Mentor Severus Snape, Mentor Voldemort (Harry Potter), Misguided Albus Dumbledore, Muggles are Mundanes, Naive Harry Potter, Nightmares, Not sure what I'm doing, Not to sure about pairings, Oblivious Harry Potter, Occlumency, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot Bunny escapee, Possible HP/LV, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Severus to the Rescue, Somewhat Good Voldemort (Harry Potter), Tags May Change, hp/ss - Freeform, just a little bit, muggle/magical warfare, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-08-13 21:55:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16480469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBeaumort/pseuds/LadyBeaumort
Summary: Everyone believed that Voldemort and his Death Eaters were the Monsters in the Dark, but no one ever thought twice about the Muggles, even when their Savior went missing. OOC. Grey/Independent!Harry. Muggle Warfare. Noncanon. Rated M+ For a reason. Possible Parings.





	1. Pain is an Illusion

**Author's Note:**

> AN: SO..this is a rewrite of ‘chapter 0”, It was and (Kind of still is) a plot bunny, but I’ve written a couple of chapters after recently rewriting this. Not sure what will become of it, but it is definitely a WIP. Will try to update at least every two weeks if not sooner, no promises.  
> As for any pairings, again I am not sure but it will not be Ginny, or any Drarry. Its possible he’ll end up with no one but if he does it’ll be anyone other than them. Severus will play a major role in the story and he’s not a bad guy in this, he just has to be a git because he’s forced to so at the very least it will be Mentor!Snape-ish.  
> This will be slightly Dumbledore Bashing, but that’s all.  
> Also, please excuse any grammar/spelling mistakes. Not the best of writers and I don’t have a Beta.  
> Hope you Enjoy and feel free to PM or Review with any comments, questions, and concerns.

.0Oo.. **00**..oO0.

  
**Pain is an Illusion**  
~July 5, 1995~

  
Drip.  
Drip.  
Drip.

  
     Startled green eyes snapped open, instinctively searching for a lingering sign of disturbance. Slightly disoriented, Harry struggled to come to, aware of only the inky blackness that clouded his vision. He reached out blindly, searching for his bedside lamp only to come across empty space. Alarmed, he reached out again and felt around for his bed only to be greeted by hard stone. It was smooth, almost silk-like and cold, shockingly so. Slowly he became aware of his surroundings, or the lack of. There was nothing, nothing at all, just that smothering darkness.

     Unease began to settle in pit of his stomach, slowly raking its claws up across his diaphragm. Terrified, he struggled to catch his breath, gasping frantically. His lungs clenched and spasmed, straining for air. Harry coughed violently, choking on the congealed darkness as it filled his lungs. The darkness became almost tar-like as it spread down his throat, filling up his mouth, nose and down into his throat and lungs. Panicked, Harry thrashed against the dense black mass that surrounded him. His senses dulled, engulfed in an impenetrable stillness; an intangible and unyielding force of deafening silence. His thoughts and senses slowly became distorted, fragmented as his body and mind was submerged by the transcendent force that was unknown to him. Hazily, Harry recalled having a body but his perception of it was gone. He felt unhindered by flesh and bone, yet still felt the ghost of it linger. _I wonder if this is what jellyfishes feel like?_ He mused to himself. _I know I should have a body, but I feel like I’m floating_.

  
Distressed, he let a wave of magic flare out into the void, to get a feel of his surroundings if any, but as soon as he did, his magic hit a wall, a field of static that is neither there nor anywhere in the pockets of space. He started to hyperventilate in his panic, _I’m trapped!_ He realized. “Please, someone help me!” he screamed out into the darkness. As he did so, Harry began to feel the invisible walls of static and noise close in on him. Pressing down on lungs he didn’t have.  
  

     Burning.

  
     Harry felt phantom tendrils of the static lick up his body, burning like acid on the ghost of his skin, blazing up his arms, chest, and legs, seeping into his veins. The invisible walls crush his phantasm bones into piles of dust. The sound of static slithers into his soul, wrapping, entwining in the weavings of memory and magic, squeezing relentlessly. Faintly, he hears someone screaming, _is that me? Am I screaming,_ he thought,  _All I feel is pain, there is nothing but pain._ The agony continued for an indiscernible amount of time, as any preconceptions about it and of its existence had been forgotten.

     And yet, even during all that pain and misery, Harry could still form conscious thought. He could count, calculate difficult arithmetic equations, and reflect on his past and the decisions he had made. Though, doing so did not alleviated any of the pain. The precious gift of consciousness was not a gift at all, as some would think, but a curse inflicted on his sorry soul. For pain and thought would only lead to guilt and blame. It only made the sufferer think of the mistakes they had made and the actions they should have taken.  
And during his reflection, Harry realized that after so many years of loneliness and carnage, the truth in those memories. The horrifyingly ugly truth that had always haunted him from the corners of his unraveling mind. That the worst thing about being lied to, is realizing that you weren't worth the truth.

 And that only added to the fire.

"Stop." A clear, crisp, voice demanded, cutting through the haze of agony and painful introspection. "Do not give in, take a deep breath and count back from ten."

 _What?_ Harry was confused. _I- can't, please, I don't under-_

"You don't need to, just listen to me, Harry, listen to me." The voice commanded. _Did I say that out load?_ He wondered idly.

“Harry. Listen to me.” The voice said with exasperation. It belonged to a female, but it lacked any warmth or compassion. It was cold, dark, and distant, not unlike the darkness around him.

"Concentrate, focus only on the sound of my voice. Clear your mind of anything else." She instructed, sounding a little irritated, as if she was impatient or possibly a little disa-

A new wave of agony cut off his inner monologue, but this pain was different than before, it was cool and crisp like waves of ice and electricity.

Harry panted heavily as he tried to focus on clearing his mind.

In a moment of delirious humor, he snickered, _If only Snape could see me now. The blasted bat would be so pleased, but –Of course– not about my skills in occlumency._

"Are you focused? Can you hear me?" The woman's irritation was palpable now, she was not pleased.

A tidal wave of electric pain hit him again, at full force, drawing him deeper into a sea of misery.

"Ignore it, Harry. Ignore the pain. Pain, Harry, is only an illusion. A misconception of something that is thought to exist. Pain does not exist, just like the monsters Harry, they only exist if you let them."

_Monsters?_

"Do you understand?"

 _No_. “Yes”, he gasped in desperation. _Help me! Please, make it stop!_

"Okay, now, again, take a deep breath and count back from ten. Are you ready?"

Yes...

He took a deep breath and counted. As he counted, past all the pain and delirium, a small, disembodied voice whispered to him.

"Ten."  _Pain_ …

"Nine." _Isn’t_ …

"Eight." _Real_ …

"Seven." _Fight_ …

"Six."  _Fight_... 

"Five."  _Until_ ….

"Four."  _You’re_...

"Three."  _free_....

"Two. "  _Don’t_...

Abruptly, the shroud of darkness that clung to his mind was hurled away, a swirling mass of black clouds vanishing into a vortex of light, and in its place was its counter. The resulting cacophony was maddening; a waterfall of noise cascading over him, leaving him deaf to everything else but the sound of rushing water and sporadic thumps flooding his senses. It was the sound of his own lungs and heart, struggling to keep him afloat. The turbulence took residence along with only a blinding, tunnel of light to accompany it. Then, as quickly as it came it was gone, slowly at first, then faster and faster as Harry fell back into the rising darkness, like waves of the sea, with startling realism.

"One."  _Forget_ ….

When Harry opened his eyes, the darkness was gone as was the blinding white. Now, there is only gray and a single blinking ray of a pale-yellow emitting from the ceiling.Harry started at the sound of a throat clearing and turned to where he thought the sound came from. To his left, sat a woman, her harsh face stoic. She was young, around Sirius’ age, he guessed and was dressed in a white coat, similar to that of muggle healers... The woman was siting in a wooden chair, with a clipboard in hand. She was… slanted, no, not her, the ground. Harry looked down, and saw the rest of his body, he was laying down, strapped to a metal operation table, and dressed in a pale green medical gown.

He froze.

_What..._

_No..._

_No. This can’t be happening, not again._

_How did they..._

"Now,Mr. Potter. Shall we begin Phase Two?"

Harry screamed.


	2. Chapter 1: No Child Left Behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N at END. ENJOY!
> 
> Note: ~Parseltongue~

 

**.0Oo..01..oO0.**

~November  21, 1988~

**_4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey_ **

The first midwinter storm came early for the small town of Little Whinging, and along with it a fresh blanket of snow. Normally, like most children, youngsters of all ages would roam and play in the winter wonderland, causing mayhem and weather induced mischief everywhere they went. Snowmen, child-sized snow angels, and even some misshapen forts were scattered about, decorating the houses on Privet Drive.

All except for one.

The house on Number 4 Privet Drive was ‘believed’ (by its owners) that it was known for its ‘pristine’ and ‘groomed’ decor, but it was better known (by their neighbors) for its less than favorable inhabitants. The homely family of the Dursley's was also recognized for their pretense of being polite, considerate neighbors while egregiously hiding their curmudgeon characters. They, quite pretentiously, believed that they were people of high standing and credibility, mostly due to Vernon Dursley's distinguishable job as the director of drill making company called Grunnings. Of course, that would be true if it weren't a well-known fact that Vernon Dursley had gambled and pilfered his way to the job. It was also known, especially to those closely associated with them—be willing or otherwise—that the Dursley's were nothing short of a churlish bout, who were oddly determined (obsessively nutters, more like) to live by the rules of a misconception only known as ‘Normalcy’. But, all things considered, they were, in the eyes of their neighbors, anything but.

One would think that they believed their home to be made of twelve-foot thick brick instead of thin drywall and wood if their rowdy noise were to say anything about it. Close neighbors such as the sweet but prying cat lady, Arabella Figg and the newlywed couple, Duncan and Maybeth Eaglet, were often subjected to nightly occurrences of hellish shrieks emitting from the trim suburban home. These daily wails have been often of annoyance and anger and were mainly caused by a ghastly horse faced woman and, more often than not, the corpulent man-whale that lumbered the premises. Normally, considering how much ruckus these people of ‘high standing’ made on a day’s end, one would think that someone, whether it be the authorities or a concerned neighbor, would come by to investigate.  Especially since that out of all the noises that emitted from the house, the most heartbreaking, and most disturbing, was that of a small child screaming.

No one, of course, thought for one second, that these heart wrenching cries came from the Dursley's own son. No, that pig of a child was waited on hand and foot; he was lavished with more gifts and prizes than any boy had the right to own. These despondent wails belonged to another child, a small fragile child that was labeled a pariah by his own blood.

He was invisible to all, even to those who would have, or should have, saved him. But it would be found, years later, that that was how he had wanted it, for when he was not noticed, less pain and hatred was turned his way. And why, an outsider would think, would dear little Harry Potter be ignored when his obvious abuse was so widely recognized? It is because you see, there is an unspoken rule in that small town of Little Whinging, one that that everyone is sure to follow:

_If it’s a family affair, it's not your cross to bear._

In other words, most families in Little Whinging, the Dursley's being the prime example, believed that if it involved family matters such as parenting, then it was an issue that was kept private and within the family, and _definitely_ was not anyone else's business. If you’re not family, immediate or otherwise, it is not in your place to question another's parenting.

No matter how cruel.

And that was enough to ensure that they were to all but turn a blind eye and do nothing at all, not even to help a poor soul escape the fiery depths of hell.

Or a frozen one at that.

**.oO0Oo.**

When the remaining hours of daylight bled from the sky, the neighborhood’s children retreated to the warmth of their beds and to the luxuries of hot mugs of cocoa. But for one Harry Potter, the simple pleasures of a warm cot and god forbid, a lukewarm cup of water, were only wishes on stars. And now, even as the sun descended beyond the earth, and the air began to freeze, Harry was out in the snow, still tending to the dead garden. He was forbidden to step inside until the garden was weeded and primed; even when no amount of tending could revive the dead in the Garden’s frozen tundra. And to ensure that he would not get out of ‘earning his keep’, all doors and windows were locked, keeping him from entering the ‘safety’ of their home.

Harry, who was an intelligent child, knew this and was aware of the Dursley’s underlining motives for giving him this impossible task. Harry knew that the majority of the Dursley’s outlandish tasks were some hasty attempts to be rid of him. And while Harry shared the sentiment, he was also aware that those attempts ended badly for him; whether it be death or some other ill-fated adventure. So, if Harry wanted to survive, he needed to be prepared for anything they threw his way. Which would come back to this situation. Harry surmised that the Dursley’s had hoped that if he remained outside, with the storm heading their way, he would either: 1) Freeze to death; which mean they could play the ‘grieving family’ card and receive more charity from their neighbors or 2) they’d get to pretend to be a happy little family unburdened by the menace that was Harry Potter.

And although Harry Potter was a small child, smaller than most his age. He was diligent and had an alarming amount of self-preservation for someone his age. He was prepared, just as he promised himself he’d always be. As the sky grew black and the wind grew angry, Harry made his way to the far end of the yard where a decimated shed stood in a lonely corner. The Dursley’s never went in there, it was an obsolete remnant of the previous owners and had fallen into serious disrepair. Vernon was too lazy to do anything about it and Petunia and Dudley seem to have forgotten that it even existed.

But to Harry, it was a haven.

Throughout the years, Harry had slowly but surely made the shed at least somewhat livable for instances such as these. There was a small storage of drinking water, a few unperishable items he’d been able to swipe from the cupboards, and a small selection of threadbare but lovingly cared for blankets he’d stolen to keep warm. And lastly, it was also where his one and only friend called home.

 _~Harry! You’re letting the cold in!~_ an annoyed voice hissed as Harry made his way into the shed. After shutting the door behind him, he slowly crossed the dark space, carefully searching for the small gas lantern at the other end. As Harry grasped the small lantern in his small hands, he let a small tendril of magic curl around the wick igniting it almost instantly.

Harry smiled as the light danced across his cherubic face.

~ _Eros, where are you?~_ He hissed faintly, looking around the sparsely occupied shed. The shed was small, only about 5x6 with a small chair in the corner and shelves lining the walls, some empty, others filled with bottles, jars, cans, and other various items Harry had collected over the years.

 _~Over here, Speaker.~_ A small voice creeped across the room.

Harry turned towards the voice and found the head of a small, a darkly spotted grey smooth snake, peeking out from under Harry’s small collection of blankets. The small snake slithered his way from the cotton warmth towards Harry, seeking out the much preferred body heat Harry so readily emitted for his friend’s convenience. Eros was a fairly small snake, only measuring up to about 16cm and could still be easily concealed under Harry’s baggy clothes, making it easier for Harry to smuggle him into the house. But despite how easy it would be to do so, Harry only did in extreme circumstances, knowing that if the Dursley’s _ever_ caught Eros, he’d never see him again. So, to protect his scaly friend, Harry asked Eros to stay in the shed or out of sight to avoid the Dursley’s wrath.

 _~SOOO warm.~_ Eros hissed delightfully, as he wormed his way up and onto Harry’s bundled torso. With Eros in tow, Harry started to prepare a makeshift bed and a small meal of canned tomato soup and a small luxury in the form of a single peppermint candy. _~They locked you out again, speaker~_ a mournful hiss tickled his chin as the snakeling settled along his collarbone.

 _~Yes~_ Harry said scathingly, his hatred for the Dursley’s coloring his tone. Bitterness coiled around his throat, almost choking him with its raw intensity. _Why? Why do they hate me?_ He wondered in raising anguish. _They’re supposed to love me, aren’t they? Isn’t that what family is? It’s not fair!_ But Harry already knew the answer, no matter how he wished otherwise. _Because I’m different. I’m abnormal. They could never love something that they thought was different..._

 _~It will be alright, Eros~_ He sighed, deflating after a moment. ~O _nly a few more years until I get my Hogwarts letter and then I’ll be rid of this place…at least, for a while. ~_

_~Yes, not to long now, speaker. We’ll soon be with others of your kind.~_

And there it was again, _your kind_ . It was the  Harry vs. the Dursley's, Wizards vs. Muggles, _Us vs. Them_ . The same distinction coming back to him in different forms. But the message was clear, they were where not the same, and they’d never be. And the line that separated them was fear, Harry had long surmised. Muggles feared what they don’t know, what they don’t understand. They desired familiarity, and took comfort in the pack mentality they so readily adopted. They feared the otherworldliness that seemed to surround  Wizards and magic. And fear, well, fear was—no, _is_ —the root of all anger.  And anger leads to hatred and violence.

That’s what happened with the Dursley’s; they lived in fear of Harry, of  what he was and was capable of, never mind he was just a child. And that fear festered into anger and resentment. And aside from that fear, there was also greed, there was envy and covetousness. Muggles not only feared magic, they coveted it; they burned with it.  Such was the case with Harry’s Aunt as he would later come to find out. Jealous of her younger sister, who was everything she was not. Beautiful, kind, intelligent, adored, and most of all, magical. Lily Potter was epitome of everything Petunia wanted to be and could never become. Because envy and scorn made a once sweet child into an old, bitter harpy.

And they said it was power that corrupted.

As they settled into the night, Harry found himself thinking of Eros when he was just a fledgling. He was just newborn, when Harry had found him, hiding under a large rock in his Aunt’s garden. Eros had immediately taken to Harry and insisted he’d stay and ‘keep him company’, not that Harry minded, quite the opposite as Harry didn’t have any other friends to ‘keep him company’ as the reptile had put it.

As time passed and they became acquainted with one another, they came to learn more about themselves then they would have thought.

Harry came to find that Eros was not just any snake but a magical one, his rare breed held magical properties that made him venomous to magical folk but not ‘mundanes’ as the snake had called them _._

 _~Mundanes? ~_ Harry had asked, confused.

_~Humans who don’t have magic. I believe your kind call them muggles.~_

_~But not mundanes? Why did you call them that?~_

_~Because they’re boring~_ Eros had declared, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world _. ~ Humans are much more interesting when there is magic, especially when I get to bite them~_ he mused before slithering away, catching the scent of a lizard nearby.

Eros knew a lot about the wizarding world; it was an innate knowledge he’d told Harry, something he’d always known. He’d been the one to tell Harry that he was a wizard and told him that magic wasn’t a bad thing, it was just something not everyone had and something to be proud of, a gift from the Mother of All Things. That Magic wasn’t something to be feared but to be rejoiced upon.

As Harry listened to the howling wind huffing and puffing against the walls of the shed, threatening to blow his abode away, he couldn’t help but agree with his scaly friend. Magic was not only a tool for his survival, it gave him power. Power and control. Over himself, and others if need be. He was more than “a good for nothing freak”, he wasn’t worthless; the scum beneath someone else's  boots. He wasn’t the son of a drunken bastard and a whore of a mother. And he definitely, was not a _servant_ , Harry raged. He was _better_ ; he was a _Wizard_ , for God's sake. Harry already knew he was smarter than them, the Dursleys and most of the muggles he'd met, all he needed to be was stronger. Harry already had power, but what good was power if he could not control it. Power without control only ended in chaos and unwanted attention, and Harry had no need for chaos or prying eyes.

All he needed was control. And so, Harry grew to crave it, his magic, he began to practice molding it to his command.

Of course, that was easier said than done, but Harry was nothing but determined.

**~End of Chapter 1~**

****  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: SORRY about the abrupt ending…and  the really late update. Life has been seriously  kicking my ass lately and I am not very good at time management so yeah. Hope you enjoyed this mess of a chapter.


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